Thank you kindly for the tag, @missfortunetherogue!🌻
I have something pretty substantial to share - Chapter One is posted! Apex is born, lol.
I’m really excited about this one and can’t wait to show you all. A lot of hours went into making it readable (always a challenge when writing in another language, with all its nuances and pitfalls).
So, without further ado...
Gentle tags for💛 (doing my best to tag the writers): @lucretiouswept, @thepickledmermaid, @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream, @asorceresswrites, @cinder-rellish181, @bhaal-battle-beer-bard, @wasteful-sam, @ceremorph0sis, @mercymaker, @lavenderwarlord, @babydinosaur930, @woundedsoul12, @halsins-herbal-underpants, @fiberpunk027 & @quinthebard
From Chapter 1: Heart of the Storm
They say the storm was born of union.
After Akadi, Mother of Air, joined with Ubtao, Father of Earth and Beasts, beneath the roots of the world tree, she grew heavy with the burden of creation.
In a dream, she beheld an egg drifting among the clouds—its shell split by lightning, bursting forth in wings.
So sudden, so thunderous, that she woke to the crack of bark and the sky’s roar.
Thus, the storm took flight, claiming dominion over the heavens.
And wherever the children of the sky would wander, she followed.
Circling above, they rode the thermal currents—vast, silvered shapes against a clear sky, momentarily blotting out the sun.
A lone huntsman squinted his eyes, following their trajectory. His perspiration long since dried over the clay that covered his shorn head and body. He had tracked his quarry for many moons, remaining motionless for hours so as not to be detected.
A quiver strapped to his back, loaded with arrows, their tips steeped in foul death. In his hands rested a longbow of strange alloys. Repelling the very notion of life’s radiance. The man was sparsely dressed, wearing nothing but a pair of sandals and a loincloth. A single, sturdy mithril ring coiled around his upper arm in a spiral, whispering of the status he once held.
His name? Forgotten.
His son? Fading.
His people? Starving.
And She? Silent in the face of their suffering.
The lone man had denied himself water, save for a few drops to wet his cracked lips. He stood on the brink of collapse, reciting a prayer to the divine he had denounced, prompted by delirium. A tremor wracked his body. He swayed. Stumbled—
A large hand steadied his shoulder, stopping him from splitting his chin open. It belonged to a pale man, clad in the garments of kings, with peculiar brown eyes—as if peering into a well and seeing something fiery refracting in its depths.
Something in the ivory man’s touch filled the hunter with tremendous strength, washing away his exhaustion and leaving in its stead the bitter drops of rancour. The air shimmered with heat as a deep voice reached the hunter’s ear.
Words designed to enthrall, seduce, and deceive. The stranger had done so before—and he would do so again.
In the guise of a saviour. Sharing in their customs, tasting their food, drinking their wine, curing their ailments—a civilisation unmatched since the fall of Netheril.
Their joy turned to ash upon his tongue—a giant among maggots, far beneath his notice. No humanity stirred in him; only hellfire’s fury at the sight of such blatant disorder.
“When you are called to enter the maze of souls…
and lay her body at the foot of that gilded throne—then, at long last, the Creator will know you.
“The one whose roar binds the tribes beneath a single spear…
The one who scourges the outsiders and summons the long-denied rains.
“You already know this path.
You’ve always known it.
“All that remains…
is to reach for that flickering flame—
and snuff it out.
“And when it is done—
when the storm has quieted—
I will show you what no mortal was meant to learn:
the secret of eternity…
and how even death may be undone.
“Tell me…
what is the suffering of the many,
weighed against the life of one?
“What is one life…
against your son’s?
“…There it is.
“No cruelty. No doubt.
Only… necessity.
“It was always inevitable.”
A necrotic power flickered to life in the hunter’s hands, finding the razor-sharp fletching by touch.
“Nok.” The stranger sneered as he released the man’s shoulder.
Maintaining tension, the hunter placed the arrow on the rest; tendrils of the void awakened.
“Aim.”
The limbs screamed under the strain as the huntsman drew the string back, a low hum building in the air.
“Steady.”
An answering chuff came from somewhere to their left. It stalked past, brushing its powerful shoulder and bristling fur against its master’s hip—a testament to their shared bond. An invaluable companion: a sabre-toothed Kreshnar. Once, they could hear each other’s thoughts.
Its coat blended seamlessly with the desert: cream-white, with black spots and stripes along its flanks.
As large and powerful as a lion, it was equipped with canines like daggers—long enough to sink into the vertebrae of its prey. Unlike mundane felines, it was a creature of innate magic; its shriek could induce terror in all who heard it.
It's solid green eyes, devoid of pupils, missing nothing. Then a red seam appeared, running from snout to forehead—and in anticipation of the bloodshed to come, its face peeled away, like a corpse-rose unfurling, to reveal an oozing, bleached skull, with tongue, connective tissue, and eyes still intact.
Snarling.
“Lose.”
With a flash of eldritch power—Te Exsecro!—the arrow tore free, dragging the light with it like a comet in ascent—
a split-second vacuum, then sound erupted outward in a great, seismic ring.
I believe Francesca was Halsin’s muse for this mural…
A wicked fairy godmother, if fairy godmothers rode moon druids under oak trees and had absolutely no respect for anyone’s composure.
Francesca is not merely curious about Tempest because Halsin wants her. She has her own appetite. Her own imagination. Her own agenda:
Old bear, you are in love and behaving strangely. Shall I make this worse?
Francesca represents drive, sensuality without shame, lust without apology. And the idea that being desired, and desiring more than one partner, doesn’t cheapen love or make it less true, sincere, or real.
That is especially potent because Tempest has all this internalized shame around nudity, propriety, appetite, and being 'too much.'
Francesca represents the opposite.
She knows what she likes, she knows what Halsin likes, and she enjoys unsettling the tidy emotional furniture.
🍋 18+ below 🫦
...Francesca spoke, licking her lips, watching him stroke himself idly, spreading his precum...
...“I’m disappointed, druid. I thought you’d bring that gorgeous storm sorcerer friend of yours,” she tsked at him. “That won’t do.”...
...smooth, wet, and flushed between her legs, she was already pleasuring herself in anticipation of their union—after days of heated whispers and promises to slip away from camp and relieve their shared frustrations...
...As any longtime friends who sometimes fucked would...
...“Francesca…” Halsin warned...
...she inserted him, uncaring that he was only half-hard, feigning indifference to his pleasure, when in truth, it meant everything...
...Francesca rode him vigorously, hips snapping, wet and eager from watching him pleasure himself beneath the shade of the tree. Her taking shocked his sensitive cock into hardness in an instant, giving him no time to catch up with the onslaught of sensation...
...she reached behind and squeezed his contracting, feverish balls...
...“Why haven’t you planted your seed inside her, Halsin? It’s unlike you to hesitate with your heart’s desire.”...
...“Francesca, as much as I adore that cunt of yours—ngh!—I’m warning you, don’t push this…”...
...Halsin gripped the tree roots, holding tight as Francesca, ever the unpredictable lover, increased the pace, fast and hard. Halsin’s eyes were closed, mouth slack, overwhelmed by rapture. It felt good—so good— ...
..."Perhaps I want to taste her for myself.” Francesca placed two fingers on his forehead...
...Suddenly, Halsin’s mind drifted into a shared dream—Francesca’s gift as a high elf and magic user...
...then Halsin was pulled back to reality—his hands gripping Francesca’s hips as she cried out above him. He bucked furiously, slamming into her, every hilting thrust punctuated by a slap...
...“I warned you, Francesca…” he growled, enamored by her boldness, his loins burning, on the edge...
...“Fuck yes, that’s it—unf! Think of her!”...
...she clamped down on him as Halsin thrust roughly three more times. Francesca caterwauled, coating them both in her climax...
...but before Halsin could join her, she unseated him. His cock landed heavy, steaming on his stomach...
...she kissed his shaft with her cunt, stimulating her clit, taking him in hand, coaxing his seed to spurt. It took only a moment for thick ropes of creamy cum to spill all over Halsin’s front, some of it landing on his lip. He tasted himself, his breathing labored...
I dreamt of Tempest tending to Halsin, fresh from the Three Circle Trials. He confessed to her that he longed for a child—for his line to prevail through her—and that the urge to plant his seed in her nearly overwhelmed him with her so close at hand, despite his grievous wounds.
Tempest attempted to change his wrappings, yet they bled through all the same, and by the end, she was covered in his blood. Her disbelieving voice went: “I’m pretty sure you’ve already lost a gallon of blood! There’s just no way you can—” …the words lost as he pulled her in with sudden, fevered need, leaving no room for further protest.
Let’s just say I flew out of bed when my alarm went off and nearly ended up late to work because I had to write that shit down like a woman possessed. [for future reference]
Thank you for the tag @lucretiouswept 🌷
I have participated in this before, but I appreciate the invitation. Please forgive me if I’m not ready to share anything new at this time; I’m not in a good headspace right now. I'm seeing this through because of her; I owe it to Tempest Valourheart.
“You don’t have to answer now. A touch, and I’ll know.”—Halsin
Feeling like herself again, finally rid of the tension that had been constricting her forehead all day. Her mind clears. It might just be the alcohol’s doing, but it gives her a much-needed reboot to her system.
She stops beside the bay separating the great chimney from the hustle and bustle of the bar. Her eyes take in the sight of Halsin, sitting in one of the leather reclining chairs facing the fireplace. Wiping down his pipe, knocking the leftover ash out of the bowl, and preparing to pack it with a fresh blend of tobacco.
He’s been holding up well enough, but now she can clearly see how the city affects him. The tension in his body, the squint in his eyes—telling.
Tempest knows he abhors this place, and she feels a twinge of guilt in her gut.
Gods... I forgot to thank you...but how do I do that? When words fall short...
Forgetting where she is, Tempest is wholly unprepared for Karlach’s whispered answer to her inner thoughts. Close enough to feel Karlach’s hot breath against her ear.
“You better sashay over there and cheer him up.”
Tempest jumps and spins around, panicking like she’s been caught ogling a men-only sauna.
“Have you lost your mind?” she hisses hotly, knowing that out of all the elves, wood elves have the sharpest hearing.
Karlach doesn’t budge and merely crosses her arms. “Then tell me he is hideous to look at, that you want nothing to do with him ever again, and that you wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole.”
Tempest sputters before going completely limp, hands and bread at her sides, looking at the ceiling. Prompting Karlach to move in, pluck the bread loaf from her fingers, and add:
“High knees, soldier, lest you fall face first into that hunk of an elf’s lap.”
After having said her peace, Karlach leaves Tempest, breadless, fuming, her blood pressure roaring in her ears.
Halsin pretended not to notice Tempest’s approach—or the conversation she’d just had with Karlach. But that didn’t make his surprise any less genuine when he looked up to find her standing over him.
He paused what he was doing, showing her that she had his full attention. Curious now. For once, he had to tilt his head up to meet someone’s gaze. She stood with one hip cocked, arms crossed, lips pursed in thought. Tempest truly was a vision in her battle regalia.
“I realize I forgot to thank you... for sticking up for me, like you did.”
Halsin inclined his head in acknowledgment, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm.
And I thought I’d done a thorough job covering my tracks...
“Saw that, did you?” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll admit, I didn’t anticipate that my hand would show so readily.”
Tempest raised a hand, shaking her head with a small, amused smile—eyes sparkling. “It was... pretty great to see. You were pretty great to see, actually. Gods, I’ve never seen anyone put my uncle in his place like that. He’ll sleep with one eye open from now on, I’ll wager.”
She placed a hand on his forearm, giving it an affectionate squeeze. Halsin arched a brow, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
“Anytime,” he murmured, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
Tempest pivoted on the balls of her feet, ready to leave—still holding his arm—but hesitated, uncertain. “I’m not comfortable with owing people favors,” she admitted. “And I am indebted to you. So... name it.”
Halsin’s smile turned decidedly roguish, his gaze heating. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll come up with something... given time.”
Tempest blinked, searching his face—then realization struck. Her mouth fell open slightly as she looked down and confirmed that yes, her hand was still very much clasped around his arm. She released him immediately, holding her hands aloft as if burned, stammering something nonsensical, backing up and away from him. Sidling, not touching anything or anyone else. Muttering, “Shit... shit... shit!” before running upstairs.
Halsin remained in place, reining in the beast within by pressing the stem of his pipe to his lips. He lit the bowl, puffing experimentally, then reclined in his chair with a pleased hum.
He intended to spend the last hours of the night scrying through the hearth-fire.
Yay! I'm finally catching up with the tag queue, and I stumbled upon these text messages between Ashni & Gale 💕 - I adore them, @babydinosaur930, thank you! This is right up my alley!
Tagging: Look, I’m mutuals with my mutuals’ mutuals, m’kay? Jump right in, tag me. Open tags!
Revisit a ravaged Sword Coast and its crown jewel: Baldur’s Gate, held in a fragile peace, its people left to gather the shattered remnants of their former lives.
But sinister plans have already been set in motion by an unseen hand, and Baator quakes, its tremors felt throughout the Outer Planes, thinning the veil.
Leaving the rubble of Oakenhall behind and forsaking her pledge to the kingdom of Cormyr, Tempest sets out in search of the one druid whose voice can unite the circles against the infernal threat: Halsin Silverbough.
Former Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, and First Druid of the Sanctuary.
**A couple people mentioned they’d like to be tagged when my fic goes up ☺️ so I thought I’d ask if anyone else would want that too? 🧡absolutely no pressure, just let me know!**
CRACK SHIP ALERT BITCH. my iconic friend nikki was streaming their bg3 playthru and has all these god dam mods and we were making rolan kiss various characters and this combo and another secret sketch idea have had my boaner in a vice grip
